Chapter 2

“The farm’s not mine,” said Shay. He was leading them to a distant treeline at the end of the fields. “I own the house. Bought it from a family of farmers—one of the older relatives lived there until he died, but the people who farm didn’t need another house. They let me keep the bees on their land. They’d do it for free, but I bring them honey every now and then.”

Bradley didn’t see anything for the article to write down in all that. He couldn’t tell whether Shay was trying to impress him by bragging about his generosity, or if it was just talk to eat up time.

The hives were at the edge of the trees, four of them total, and Bradley hung back by the corn pretending to take notes as Shay walked toward the white boxes, completely unafraid.

“Aren’t you supposed to be wearing one of those bee spacesuits?” asked Bradley.

Shay laughed again. “We shouldn’t get stung just walking around. I wasn’t going to open them up unless you wanted. I already got my frames out.” When Bradley stared at him, he walked back a few paces and motioned with his hands. “The hives are full of frames that can be easily removed. The bees make their comb in the frames, fill it with honey, and cap it off. I can take what I want and leave the rest for them over winter.”

Bradley nodded and jotted that down. When he looked up, Shay had started off toward the hives again. Bradley wanted to hang back, but he felt a strong desire not to look afraid around Shay. He forced his feet forward, past one, two, three hives. The fourth looked different. At least, it had glass sticking up out of the top.

“What’s with this last hive?”

Shay turned back and winked at him again. Bradley had to look away. There was a breeze, but it was way too hot out here, and certainly there wasn’t enough distance between them. He tried not to think about it, but in the end he chided himself for not seeing to his urges more. He’d been working so hard to deal with Lance’s absence that he hadn’t been properly dealing with his own needs, and now they were interfering with an interview.

“My secret honey trick,” said Shay. He looked immensely proud of himself. “I put jars on the top here. The bees climb up inside and make the comb right in it. Then I take it off, twist the metal lid on, and people just cannot figure out how I got the honey in there like that. It’s a good seller.”

Bradley had to admit, it was clever. But when he raised his pencil to scribble it down, Shay moved closer and put his hand on top of Bradley’s. Rough skin. Gentle touch. Something lurched inside, and Bradley looked up, directly into Shay’s eyes.

Shay grinned. “I’d really appreciate it if you don’t give away my little secret,” he said

Bradley couldn’t do anything more than nod, and Shay’s hand disappeared, taking the warmth with it. He was disappointed. He had no right to be.

He’d have to go home and call Lance. Maybe they could masturbate together, deal with it that way. Lance had to be feeling similarly—he’d been gone weeks now. Bradley could wait an hour.

“Well, unless you want me to open up the hives and show you how the frames work, I guess we’re done here,” said Shay. “Questions?”

“How did you get into all this?” Time for questions yielding answers he could actually put down in an article. He didn’t have to write up much, but it couldn’t be about how easy Shay was to look at.

“I had a great-aunt who did it, so I was around the bees when I was a kid. After a bad breakup, I kind of went looking for my roots, remembered how much fun it had been when the other kids were scared of the bees, the taste of warm honey, chewing on the combs. Don’t put down the bad breakup part. Nobody needs to know that I had a minor life crisis after finding I wasn’t really building a family with the One. If you know what I mean.”

“When was this? I’ll just write down you went looking to connect with your roots a few years ago.”

“That’d work.” Shay smiled over his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“So you remembered what it was like as a kid and got into it again?”

“Well, there wasn’t exactly an again,” said Shay, scratching the back of his head. “I never really helped my great-aunt, just tagged along. I was a kid. But when I started with bees, did it ever suck me in. There’s something about it. The hum, the risk of being stung is so opposite the sweetness of the product. It’s poetic or something. You do get stung, obviously. Overall, it’s very…peaceful. Soothing. Just you and the bees.” He paused, laughed. “I sound obsessed.”

And Bradley liked it. Lance wasn’t passionate about anything. Over the years, Bradley had interviewed enough people to learn to enjoy that spark when he saw it—that flicker in the eye, that desire. It wasn’t sexual, but it was compelling. That one thing a person could find so fascinating it moved them. It was one of those things Bradley thought would always be attractive, and he didn’t need the extra help right now. He jotted a few somethings down in his notepad, smiling a little

“Obsessed can be good,” he said, a pathetic reply, but Shay didn’t seem to mind. They exited the corn out onto the gravel driveway, and Shay turned back to him.